Introduction: Ain’t I a
Womanist Too?
Third Wave Womanist Religious Thought
Monica A. Coleman
But what’s all dis here talkin’ bout? Dat
man ober dar say dat womin needs to be
helped into carriages and lifted ober mud
puddles, and to have de best place every
whar. Nobody eber help me into carriages,
or ober mud puddles or gibs me any best
place! And ain’t I a woman? Look at me!
Look at my arm! I have ploughed, and
planted, and gathered into barns, and no
man could head me! And ain’t I a woman?
I could work as much and eat as much as
a man—when I could get it—and bear de
lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have
bourne thirteen chilern, and seen ’em mos’
all sold off to slavery, and when I cried
out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus
heard me! And ain’t I a woman?1
In her now famous 1851 speech at the Akron, Ohio women’s rights gathering,
Sojourner Truth critiqued the default understanding of womanhood with her
poignant question, “And ain’t I a woman?” Sojourner Truth noted the ways
that the work and lives of enslaved black women departed from the Victorian
standards of piety, purity, submission, and domesticity—more commonly
referred to as the “cult of true womanhood.” Having different experiences and
perspectives from white middle- and upper-class women did not negate Truth’s
womanhood. Rather, Truth calls for a redefinition, or more aptly, an expansion,
1
2 | Ain't I a Womanist Too?
of what it means to be a woman. This refrain has served as a touchstone, first
for black women, and eventually for women of all backgrounds, to ensure that
no woman, no matter how different her experiences, was left oppressed.
Likewise, there is a third wave of womanist religious thought that asks
a similar question, “Ain’t I a womanist too?” In so doing, this movement
redefines and extends, from within and without, what it means to place black
women’s religious experiences at the center of theological activity and religious
reflection. This introduction will address womanism in general, and issues of
identity politics. It will discuss how third wave womanism dovetails with third
wave feminism and will give some markers for what constitutes third wave
womanist religious thought. The final section will note how the essays in this
volume variously reflect third wave womanist religious thought.
History of “Womanist” and “Womanism”
ALICE WALKER
Within religious scholarship, Alice Walker’s description of “womanist” is often
invoked as a definition, at the most, or as poetic inspiration, at the least, for
the religious reflection by and about black women. Alice Walker initially
uses the term “womanist” in her 1979 short story, “Coming Apart.” Almost
parenthetically, she writes, “The wife has never considered herself a
feminist—though she is, of course, a ‘womanist.’ A ‘womanist’ is a feminist, only
more common.”2 Walker gives greater explanation in her 1981 article, “Gifts
of Power: The Writings of Rebecca Jackson.” Ruminating on the writings of
the nineteenth-century black female Shaker preacher, Rebecca Jackson, Walker
reflects on Jean McMahon Humez’s editing of Jackson’s work where Humez
refers to Jackson’s decision to live with a close woman friend as a relationship
that, in modern times, would have been referred to as openly lesbian. Walker
rejects Humez’s naming for many reasons with these concluding remarks:
The word “lesbian” may not, in any case, be suitable (or comfortable) for
black women, who surely would have begun their woman-bonding earlier
than Sappho’s residency on the Isle of Lesbos. Indeed, I can imagine black
women who love women (sexually or not) hardly thinking of what Greeks
were doing; but instead, referring to themselves as “whole” women, from
“wholly” or “holy.” Or as “round” women—women who love other women,
yes, but women who also have concern, in a culture that oppresses all black
people (and this would go back very far), for their fathers, brothers and sons,
no matter how they feel about them as males. My own term for such women
would be “womanist.” At any rate, the word they chose would have to be both
Introduction: Ain’t I a Womanist Too? | 3
spiritual and concrete and it would have to be organic, characteristic, not simply
applied.3
There are hints to where Walker will go with the term, “womanist.”
Community will be important and the term will be spiritual and concrete,
organic and characteristic. Walker continues to frame the term “womanist” in
contradistinction to the separatist trends within the white feminism of the time.
We see Walker’s fullest discussion of “womanist” in the prologue to her
1983 collection of prose, In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens. Here she writes
of womanist, in definition format, in four parts. For the sake of space, I will
abbreviate them:
1. From womanish (Opp. of “girlish,” i.e., frivolous, irresponsible, not
serious.) A black feminist or feminist of color. Interested in grownup doings. Acting grown-up. Being grown-up. Responsible. In
charge. Serious.
2. Also: a woman who loves other women, sexually and/or
nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women’s culture, women’s
emotional flexibility (values tears as natural counterbalance of
laughter), and women’s strength. Sometimes loves individual men,
sexually and/or nonsexually. Committed to survival and wholeness of
entire people, male and female. Not a separatist, except periodically,
for health. Traditionally universal. Traditionally capable.
3. Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves
love and food and roundness. Loves struggle. Loves the Folk. Loves
herself. Regardless.
4. Womanist is to feminist as purple to lavender.4
Within religious scholarship, Walker’s articulation has held the most sway.
There are at least two significant challenges associated with Walker’s
understanding of womanism, and its use in religious studies. The first challenge
is that Walker’s “definition” is not really a definition. It is poetic in nature,
which makes it attractive. It resonates. It has staying power. You want to read
it aloud. And yet, as Layli Phillips writes in “Womanism: On Its Own,” it
is “theoretically slippery and frustrating.”5 Black feminist Patricia Hill Collins
reminds us that the “definition” is both historical and visionary, and that it
represents conflicting political ideologies of nationalism, pluralism,
integrationism/assimilationism.6 Even Floyd-Thomas notes that Walker coined
the term “womanist,” but “womanism became a movement [within black
women’s religious scholarship] when black women scholars of religion used
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their logos” to unite theological reflection with social transformation.7 Within
religious scholarship, few womanist thinkers incorporate the breadth of
Walker’s writings and activism into their reflection. Karen BakerFletcher,8 Melanie Harris,9 and Arisika Razak10 are notable exceptions, and
they do this in quite different ways. The notable point is that Walker’s
definition has served as an important starting point—and point of departure—for
reflection on black women’s religious lives. However, its poetic nature requires
significant exposition, explanation, and construction on the part of any who
invoke the term.11
The second challenge that womanist religious scholars face when relying
on Walker’s writings on womanism is the neglect—and near erasure from the
scholarship—of the two other significant progenitors of the term: Chikwenye
Okonjo Ogunyemi, whose perspective came to be known as African
womanism, and Clenora Hudson-Weems’s articulation of the term, which calls
itself Africana womanism.
CHIKWENYE OGUNYEMI
First publishing on “womanism” in 1985, Ogunyemi works with African
diasporan literature to articulate the differences she sees among white feminist,
black feminist, and womanist writings. For Ogunyemi, an African womanist
is best known by the fact that she is conscious of more than issues of sex
and gender. Rather, a womanist “must incorporate racial, cultural, national,
economic, and political considerations into her philosophy.”12 Ogunyemi
defines her concept of womanism even more explicitly as a philosophy that
“celebrates black roots [and] the ideals of black life, while giving a balanced
presentation of black womandom [and] concerns itself as much with the black
sexual power tussle as with the world power structure that subjugates
blacks.”13 She notes the need to focus on an ethics of survival—a principle
that would become, through quite different routes, an important feature of
womanist theology. She also highlights the complexity of sexual and gendered
relations by arguing that “matrilineal and polygynous societies in Africa are
dynamic sources for the womanist novel.”14
CLENORA HUDSON-WEEMS
Clenora Hudson-Weems’s description of Africana womanism draws explicitly
from Sojourner Truth’s famous speech, while being rooted firmly in a panAfrican nationalist politic. In her 1993 essay, “Africana Womanism,” HudsonWeems states that her use of the term “womanism” recalls Sojourner Truth’s
Introduction: Ain’t I a Womanist Too? | 5
“Ain’t I a Woman” speech “in which [Truth] battles with the dominant
alienating forces in her life as a struggling Africana woman, questioning the
accepted idea of womanhood.”15 Hudson-Weems describes Africana
womanism as “an ideology created and designed for all women of African
descent. It is grounded in African culture, and therefore, it necessarily focuses
on the unique experiences, struggles, needs and desires of Africana
women.”16 In her 1989 writings, unlike Walker and Ogunyemi, HudsonWeems establishes priorities in Africana womanism, stating, “Africana people
must eliminate racist influences in their lives first, with the realization that they
can neither afford nor tolerate any form of female subjugation.”17 HudsonWeems sees sexism as a secondary problem that arises out of racism and classism.
She finds inspiration from Sojourner Truth, arguing that “before Sojourner
could hope to address gender problems, she had to first overcome
discrimination from her White audience. Clearly, gender was not her primary
concern.”18
Hudson-Weems is interested in the impact of Africana womanism within
the field of Africana studies and Africana women’s studies. She believes that
Africana men and Africana women are and should be allies. Spirituality plays a
smaller role in Hudson-Weems than in Ogunyemi’s and Walker’s expressions,
and in another interesting departure from Walker, Hudson-Weems rejects
homosexuality outright.
Naming/Identity Politics
These early articulations of “womanist” and “womanism” are joined in their
desire to differentiate themselves from a largely white feminist movement,
as well as from those who identify as black feminists. At the risk of being
reductionist, the critiques can be summarized in the following ways: feminism
is often critiqued for being racist and classist with an implied “white and
middle-class” positionality in all its activities. Black feminism is critiqued for
having a singular focus or privileging gender issues, within the multiple
oppressions that black women experience. Both “white” feminism and black
feminism are charged as being separatist from men. Some womanists also
critique and resist feminism’s association with same-gender-loving women. I
think this is a decent summary of the critiques, although like Beverly GuySheftall, I think that many of these critiques represent mischaracterizations of
white feminism and black feminism—even at the times that they were made. 19
Feminism, black feminism, and womanism have all evolved significantly
since the 1980s. Many of the critiques have been addressed in the growth
and diversification of each movement. Nevertheless, Patricia Hill Collins notes
6 | Ain't I a Womanist Too?
that the terms black feminism and womanism connote different academic
and political agendas. Collins is correct when she reminds readers that “the
womanist/black feminist debate occurs primarily among relatively privileged
black women.”20 Indeed, this navel-gazing over names and nomenclature
becomes dizzying. Here’s what I think matters:
What seems central to these conversations is that “womanism” signifies a
kind of self-naming. Alice Walker indicates that she chose the word “womanist”
(over “black feminist”) because there “was more room in it for changes,” and
it was “more reflective of black women’s culture, especially Southern
culture.”21 She liked “the feel, the fit, the sound” of the word.22 Likewise,
Floyd-Thomas connects womanism with Sojourner Truth around the issue of
naming: “More than a century and a half after Isabella Baumfree changed her
name to Sojourner Truth, a small cadre of Black female scholars of religion
claimed a similar power of naming and called themselves womanists.”23 In
fact, Phillips reminds us that womanism “named something that had been in
existence for some time, functioning below the academic and activist radar
and outside dominant histories of consciousness.”24 Those who adopt and adapt
the nomenclature of “womanist” and “womanism” are making a particular
statement about how they want to be referenced and with whom and what they
want to be associated. And as corollary, those with whom they do not wish to
be associated.
So names matter. The words we use, the names we call ourselves, or are
called by others, matter. And this naming matters. Some scholars are prepared
to establish the criteria by which they are willing to wrangle over names.
In “Is a Womanist a Black Feminist?” self-described black feminist religious
ethicist Traci West states that “specifying the boundaries between feminism and
womanism in [her] work is of little significance to [her], unless it furthers some
form of woman-affirming social shift toward a more just and compassionate
world, and gives special attention to those persons who are victimized by
violence [. . . especially] wives, prostitutes, lesbians, gay men and transgendered
persons.”25 In her essay, “What’s in a Name? Womanism, Black Feminism
and Beyond,” Patricia Hill Collins concludes that the work we do is more
important than our naming. She believes we need to shift the emphasis from
“black women’s oppression to how institutionalized racism operates in genderspecific ways . . . and how gender oppression works in tandem with racial
oppression.”26 I most appreciate Phillips’s view. She states: “Self-labeling is a
psychologically and politically valuable process, yet labels and identities are
socially negotiated through dialogue. People may or may not agree about
how to name a thing, but the process of negotiating the label is healthy and
Introduction: Ain’t I a Womanist Too? | 7
inevitable.”27 Thus conversations about this naming are relevant because of
what’s at stake.
The first thing at stake is black women’s ability to name themselves.
In the “Gifts of Power” article, Alice Walker asserts that choosing the name
“womanist” is connected to a sense of freedom. She writes, “I simply feel
that naming our own experience after our own fashion (as well as rejecting
whatever does not seem to suit it) is the least we can do—and in this society
may be our only tangible sign of personal freedom” (italics mine). In this sense,
the politics of identity are not just about politics, but they are about identity.
I believe this is true of all people, but it can be particularly relevant to those
individuals and communities who are so often named by other people in ways
in which they would not name themselves. In the movie version of Alex
Haley’s Roots, the slave master tries to tell the protagonist that his slave name
is “Tobey,” while the protagonist insists that his name is “Kunta Kinte.” The
viewers witness a brutal scene as the slave master physically and publicly whips
Kunta Kinte into submission until he responds to the name, “Tobey.” What
I’m trying to say is that naming is an important step in reducing a subject to
an object, and self-naming is a critical step in the move back to one’s own
subjectivity.28
The second issue at stake in womanist naming is power. In my 2006
roundtable article, “Must I Be Womanist?” I was trying to raise this question of
identity politics. Why is it that some scholars and activists refer to themselves
as black feminist, while others prefer womanist?29 What is the difference? And,
more importantly, what do we do when a title designed to give black women
the space to name themselves is imposed upon activists and scholars from
without, as Traci West describes so poignantly in her essay “Is a Womanist a
Black Feminist?”30 I am not referring to the ways in which some might ascribe
the label “womanist” or “feminist” to historical personages who did not have
access to such naming, and thus did not name themselves this way. Rather,
there are individuals and institutions in the academy, religious leadership, and
publishing that declare who, what, and how black women pursue and name
their work, holding them by the golden handcuffs of employment, tenure,
publication, and access to leadership and community. When the words
designed to promote personal freedom become bars to cage in and restrain, we
need to have a conversation about the viability and usage of those words.
Likewise, black women are sometimes the ones with the power. Collins
deftly reiterates that “talk of centers and margins, even the process of coining to
voice itself, that does not simultaneously address issues of power leaves masses
of black women doing the dry cleaning, cooking the fast food, and dusting the
8 | Ain't I a Womanist Too?
computer of the sister who has just written the newest theoretical treatise on
black women.”31 In other words, we must also be aware of the instances and
positionalities whereby we who write about black women, oppression, religion,
and justice hold power over other black women by virtue of factors we either
cannot or do not wish to control, such as class, color, sexual behavior, and
geography, to name a few. That is, black women—especially black women in
the U.S. academy—are not all at the bottom of the proverbial scale.
Third Wave Feminism
In “Must I Be a Womanist?” I wrestled aloud with whether or not “womanist”
was the most appropriate nomenclature for black women religious scholars.
Could not “black feminist” be equally or perhaps more apt, depending on one’s
political and religious commitments? I think I made a legitimate argument
for black feminist’s historic and current ability to address issues I saw as
shortcomings within womanist religious scholarship. With notable exceptions,
I found black feminist work more strident in addressing religious pluralism,
sexual difference, and global politics than womanist religious scholarship. Of
course—and this is an important aside—there are many who feel that black
feminism has been a rather secular movement, becoming post-Christian and
post-religious early on. Or to say it in kinder tones, black feminism, as such,
has not engaged black women’s religiosity in the ways that those who name
themselves “womanist” have. Nevertheless, I did not require an abandonment of
the term “womanist” for those working within religious scholarship. Trying to
highlight the heterogeneity of the scholarship on black women’s religiosities, I
suggested that there might be a third wave within womanist religious thought.
Third wave feminism is the name given to an eclectic group of young
feminists with diverse issues and strategies of addressing injustice in
contemporary society. The idea of a third wave within feminism depends on
identifying the first two waves of feminism. The first wave is often identified
in the women’s suffrage and abolitionist movements of the nineteenth century.
This wave is composed primarily of liberal, northern, white U.S. women, but
could well include the efforts of Anna Julia Cooper, Sojourner Truth, Maria
Stewart, and Ida B. Wells-Barnett. The second wave is identified with the
sexual revolution of the 1960s. Often dated with the 1964 publication of Betty
Freidan’s The Feminist Mystique, with corollary movements in Europe, the
second wave of feminism is often characterized by its push for equality and
equity, reproductive rights, etc. Explicitly named black feminism and womenof-color feminisms, also referred to as “U.S. third world feminisms” in the
Introduction: Ain’t I a Womanist Too? | 9
late 1970s and early 1980s, serve as a bridge between the relatively white
and middle-class second wave feminism and where third wave feminists see
themselves.
Finding voice in the mid-1990s, third wavers often distinguish themselves
as being members of a particular generation. In Feminism and Christianity,
Caryn Riswold describes herself as a third wave feminist because she is “raised
on the benefits of first- and second-wave feminist activism.”32 That is, third
wavers are the “first generation for whom feminism has been entwined in the
fabric of [their] lives.”33 Third wave feminists often see themselves as sharing
particular generational experiences. They benefit from the gains of second wave
feminism: women’s studies programs in universities, feminist organizations, and
publishing outlets, to name just a few examples. In Listen Up!: Voices from the
Next Feminist Generation, Barbara Findlen says that third wave feminists have
been shaped by the unique events and circumstances of [their] time:
AIDS, the erosion of reproductive rights, the materialism and
cynicism of the Reagan and Bush years, the backlash against women,
the erosion of civil rights, the skyrocketing divorce rate, the
movement toward multiculturalism and greater global awareness, the
emergence of the lesbian and gay rights movements, a greater overall
awareness of sexuality—and the feminist movement itself.34
Yet other third wavers believe that they are better identified as a political
generation.35 That is, membership in the third wave is not simply age or birth
rite, but affiliation with similar issues and politics.36 After all, some individuals
might have the generational experiences that Findlen describes, but align
themselves more closely with second wave feminist politics.
Thus another marker of third wave feminism is that it is a departure from
the second wave. Rebecca Walker describes this best in her anthology, To Be
Real: Telling the Truth and Changing the Face of Feminism, when she writes that
her generation has “a very different vantage point on the world than [their]
foremothers.”37 In fact, many third wavers have experienced the second wave
as a dogmatic, demanding conformation to a status quo that takes particular
stances on work, abortion, beauty, and family. Walker describes this second
wave mythos thusly:
In order to be a feminist one must live in poverty, always critique,
never marry, want to censor pornography and/or worship the
Goddess. A feminist must never compromise herself, must never
10 | Ain't I a Womanist Too?
make concessions for money or for love, must always be devoted to
the uplift of her gender, must only make an admirable and selfless
livelihood, preferably working for a women’s organization.38
Angela Y. Davis concurs that such a feminist status quo, while never intended
by its architects, does “establish strict rules of conduct” and serves to “incarcerate
individuality.”39
While there is a departure from the second wave, there is also significant
continuity. In Third Wave Agenda, Lisa Heywood and Jennifer Drake
distinguish third wave feminism from post-feminism. Unlike post-feminism,
which defines itself against the second wave,40 third wave feminism contains
elements of the second wave—such as the critique of beauty culture, sexual
abuse, and power structures—while “acknowledg[ing] and mak[ing] use of the
pleasure, danger, and defining power of those structures.”41 These continuities
are best seen in third wave feminism’s commitment to activism—another
principle that distinguishes a third wave from post-feminism. Apart from the
personal and academic writings about third wave feminism, the most common
association for “third wave” terminology is found in the Third Wave
Foundation, co-founded by Rebecca Walker. The foundation funds projects
proposed by women, transgender and gender nonconforming youth between
the ages of fifteen and thirty years of age:
Third Wave is a member-driven multiracial, multicultural, multisexuality national non-profit organization devoted to feminist and
youth activism for change. Our goal is to harness the energy of
young women and men by creating a community in which members
can network, strategize, and ultimately, take action. By using our
experiences as a starting point, we can create a diverse community
and cultivate a meaningful response.42
The words that consistently emerge in relation to third wave feminisms are:
contradiction, ambiguity, multiplicity, hybridity, individualism, and activism.
Third wave feminists are individualistic and communitarian, academics,
activists and stay-at-home moms, knitters and athletes, bitches, punks, riot
grrrls, dykes, and ladies. The third wave cannot be known without touching
on its engagement with popular culture and the media images of independent
women. Third wave writings reference Courtney Love, Madonna, Meshell
Ndegeocello, Dora the Explorer, “Sex and the City,” Queen Latifah, Mary J.
Blige, e-zines, and blogs.43 Third wavers acknowledge that the battle has not
been won, but they want to live out the rights for which the second wave
Introduction: Ain’t I a Womanist Too? | 11
fought. Personally, I like the way Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards put
it in their thorough third wave text, Manifesta. Third wavers say: “I’m not a
feminist but . . .” and “I’m a feminist, but . . . ,” to illustrate their connections
and departures from feminist associations.44
Admittedly there are generalizations being made in this typology. I’ve
drawn broad strokes and missed the notable exceptions in each designated
wave. Most importantly, I’ve failed to mention that the typology of waves
differs significantly when examining black feminism on its own. That is, the
aforementioned Maria Stewart, Ida B. Wells-Barnett, Anna Julia Cooper, and
Mary Shadd Cary could well constitute a second wave of black feminism
wherein race women unite their resistance of racism and gender-based
oppression; this is a “second wave” when considered with the resistance efforts
of slave women in the antebellum period—well documented by Angela Y.
Davis,45 Deborah Gray White,46 and Harriet Jacobs.47 Black feminist
Kimberly Springer believes that “the wave model perpetuates the exclusion of
women of color from women’s movement history and feminist theorizing.” 48
This is not to say that black feminists do not speak of something like a
third wave. Springer notes that there is a movement of contemporary black
feminists, not unlike the aforementioned third wavers, that are post–civil rights
era, college-educated, and middle-class, enjoying the benefits of the black
feminist efforts that preceded them.49 They too reference popular culture icons
like Lauryn Hill, India.Arie, and Erykah Badu. While Springer laments their
lack of engagement with sexuality, she notes that these black feminists do
not speak of radical departures from or conflicts with their black feminist
foremothers. This generation has its own ways of encountering popular culture,
history, activism, “strong black woman” syndrome, and male engagement.
More often calling themselves “hip hop feminists,” this endeavor includes the
likes of Veronica Chambers,50 Lisa Jones,51 and Joan Morgan,52 who, like W.
E. B. DuBois and Delaney before them, are joined by male counterparts such
as Michael Awkward,53 Gary Lemons,54 David Ikard,55 and Marc Anthony
Neal.56 Springer rejects the terminology of “waves” and prefers to see the work
of young (i.e., contemporary) black feminists as part of a historical continuum
of black women’s raced and gendered activism in the U.S. Still, black feminists
like Beverly Guy-Sheftall prefer to work with the wave terminology,
redrawing the boundaries of the waves to be more inclusive of the activism of
black women and other women of color.57
Finding myself closer to Guy-Sheftall’s position, I give attention to the
typology of waves, and a third wave in particular, because (1) it is generally
accepted as a fair description of the development of U.S. feminisms (although
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that’s not a particularly compelling reason), and (2) I think it is a useful and
instructive metaphor for describing what I see happening—and what I hope to
see happen—in womanist religious thought.
As Sallie McFague so well reminds religious scholars, metaphorical
language is powerful, but limited. That is, our engagement of metaphors says a
lot about what we are trying to theorize, but it always loses something. There
is, as she says, an “is” and “is not” to metaphorical language.58 The metaphor
of “wave” has been extended into a model, and there is another significant
competing model when speaking of womanism and womanist religious
scholarship: the generational model.
I’ve noted that third wave feminism plays hide-and-go-seek with its
relationship to age and generations. Some identify third wave feminism directly
with Generation X. Others, myself included, prefer to associate third wave
feminism with its characteristics and politics, noting that a second-waver by age
may well have third wave commitments and vice versa.
In womanist religious thought, Floyd-Thomas invokes the language of
generations. After identifying womanist “matriarchs” Delores Williams, Katie
Cannon, and Jacquelyn Grant, Floyd-Thomas goes on to describe and name a
first generation of womanist religious scholars. The second generation consists
of those who were taught by or “influenced” by the works of the first
generation. In her categorizing, the third generation “emerged as Black women
are able to study with first- and second-generation womanists and learn about
womanist theories and methodologies in seminaries and universities throughout
North America and extending to the Caribbean and West and South
Africa.”59 The strength of this language is that it provides a kind of genealogy,
or apostolic succession model, of mentorship and privilege. It acknowledges the
gains of the early womanist religious scholars, and their living legacies.
Layli Phillips also uses family language to talk about the relationships
among womanism, feminism, and black feminism. She refers to womanism
and white U.S. feminism as cousins, and womanism and black feminism as
sisters. I like the family resemblance revealed in Phillips’s categorization. She
well highlights that, despite our differences, we are family. I find this to be
especially true in womanist religious thought. In womanist religious thought,
the “first generation,” or “first wave,” is still living. No one has died. We are
mentors, mentees, colleagues, students, teachers, and friends with one another.
The generational and family metaphors lose three things that I think
“wave” language captures. Like waves, what I’m trying to describe about the
scholarship on black women’s religiosity has movement. Mimicking the ocean,
it ebbs and it flows; there are seasons of high tide and low tide; and often, it even
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roars. You can ride a wave, jump in it, or watch it wash your sand castles, or
even your own physical brick-and-mortar house, away. I argue that third wave
womanist religious thought has these same characteristics. Second, with a wave,
one is known by when and where one arrives, rather than when one is born and
with whom one studied. While generational language says something about
what has been achieved, as well as when and where one learned, it doesn’t say
enough about how one turned out. While I think there are some generational
markers to what I’m discussing, when it comes to one’s politics and perspective,
age, however, is more relevant in terms of how long one lives, what one lives
to see, and what one does with one’s life—the specific time period in which that
life began.
Third, and most importantly, articulating “waves” within womanist
religious thought has the connotations of third wave feminism. I find this
particularly salient in helping to maintain the connections among womanist
religious scholarship, the academic study of religion, white women’s feminism,
women-of-color
feminism,
global
feminisms,
and
women’s
studies—connections that, most times, are tenuous at best. In reinforcing these
connections, we become more able to see womanist religious thought as part
of larger, global movements for social transformation in and through individual
and communal religiosity.
Considering a “third wave” within womanist religious thought also
suggests that there are shared traits between third wavers. Perhaps like third
wave feminism, third wave womanist religious thought is also characterized by
contradiction, ambiguity, multiplicity, hybridity, individualism, and activism.
Perhaps third wave womanist religious thought also invokes popular culture
and media images. Perhaps third wave womanist religious thought is also
known by the compulsion to say “I’m not womanist but . . .” and “I’m
womanist, but . . . ,” to illustrate their connections and departures from second
wave womanist associations.
Waves of Womanist Religious Thought
FIRST WAVE
And yes, there is a second wave of womanist religious thought—and a first.
I agree with Floyd-Thomas that there appear to be womanist matriarchs.
These “first wavers”—Williams, Cannon, and Grant in theology and ethics—are
named so because they were the first to engage the term “womanist” in
relationship to their religious thought. One might also extend this wave to the
scholars in every religious discipline who first make black women’s religious